*Disclaimer: This work is partly fiction.*
When I was 5,
I didn’t think about love.
All I knew was that I looked forward
To seeing you every day at school
And playing together during recess.
When I was 13,
I was peer pressured into love.
I was lost in tales of ‘unconditionally’;
Everyone seemed to have their ‘One’ but not I.
You looked into my eyes, into my despair.
I fell for you; you did not.
When I was 14,
I told everyone about you.
Yes, I was crazy about you.
I got teased; I got ignored.
I felt ugly, unloved.
Never, I will never tell again.
When I was 15,
I had many secrets; I was finally growing up to be the person I wanted to be.
But I didn’t trust. I was alone in my ascent
And here you were, finally, my other half.
Together we were creatively unique, lone wolves.
I found you…
But you found someone else.
When I was 16,
I didn’t give a damn anymore.
I was tired of your game, my love.
But you still came at me.
You clawed and hung on to my heart
Until it ripped apart.
Torn, beaten, lying down: I closed my eyes and hid.
When I was 17,
I opened my eyes again and fell out of the closet.
My love was unconditional.
And I was… happy.
I gave myself to you; to you,
I said ‘I love you’
For the first time; my heart expanded, beating… loving.
And you smiled and you held my hand,
Although your eyes replied, ‘But I don’t.’
When I was 18,
I was still chasing after you; I was willing
To wait for you,
But little did I know that someone else
Was also running.
Besides, you had never really been into girls.
When I was 19,
Love couldn’t affect me as much anymore.
It was a bunch of chemicals in my brain;
It was not a priority.
You bumped into me in the campus.
I admit, I was infatuated.
But it did fade, eventually. A rebound.
When I was 20,
It pushed me hard against the ground.
I met you, but I didn’t fall in love right away.
But I did.
It was like being in love with my best friend.
You were my second confession.
In the end, Love didn’t work out, but Friendship did.
Now I am 21,
I laugh at the thought of you,
Despite you haunting my mind, my nights.
You, and all the rest, you are all the same.
I have learnt to love myself;
I have come to love others.
You are the stressor to my insecurities,
My insomnia, my loss of appetite.
Your eyes say: I am not good enough,
But she is.
You are not love; I will not be fooled.
I will not ‘wait for you’.
I don’t deserve someone who doesn’t love me back.
And you don’t either.
An Evil Nymph.
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